


don't go through the door

by LittleMissLiesmith



Category: Coraline (2009), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Coraline AU, Frisk is Coraline, Gen, everyone else is everyone else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissLiesmith/pseuds/LittleMissLiesmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk's new parents took them to Oregon shortly after adopting them. </p><p>Or, the unimaginatively named Undertale Coraline AU that no one needs or wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sans and the Cat

Frisk’s new parents took them to Oregon shortly after adopting them.

The apartment, they said, that Frisk had been visiting them in was too small for a growing child, so they were getting a new home—one in a large, old house out in a rainy, cold state. 

Frisk decided to leave their new parents alone to their business of unpacking all the heavy furniture and knickknacks that had been in some storage warehouse when their new parents moved to the old apartment and set off to explore, the first day.

It was a very large, very old house on even larger, older grounds. There was an apple orchard on the hill and a garden behind the house. The garden would belong to Frisk’s new parents—it was one of the reasons that they had chosen this house specifically, so that Frisk’s new father, Asgore, could do some gardening and Frisk’s new mother, Toriel, could look for a job as a teacher in the nearby town.

Toriel made sure Frisk was bundled up properly before letting them go out, but eventually go out they did—in a blue and purple striped sweater, and jeans, and black hiking boots, and a coat. 

The gate to the gardens was enormous and rusty, and the path to the apple orchard was littered with years’ worth of leaves. Frisk grabbed a stick on their way through the garden and took the path along and up the side of the hill. They had heard Toriel mention that there was an old well, and wanted to find it. They’d never seen a well before. 

And on the way up, they thought a little bit—about the big old Oregon house, and about their former place in a group home in New York City, and about whatever had happened to Asgore and Toriel that made their leader at the group home talk in hushed tones with the social worker.

They brushed it off as they reached the final stretch of the path to the orchard. They had almost reached it when they heard—

\--a _something_ —

\--rustling in the bushes…

Frisk gasped, reaching down to fumble at the ground for a rock and chucking it as hard as they could up to the bushes.

Something yowled.

Frisk shrieked, stumbling backwards, and began to run up the path, through the rotting apple trees of the orchard, and into a clearing empty of anything but a stump and a fairy ring of toadstools. The path didn’t continue, although the hill certainly did, reaching up into the trees farther than Frisk could see. 

They were just beginning to get really frightened when a small tabby cat with bright green eyes jumped up on the stump. 

Frisk cut off the scream bubbling up in their throat and stared at the cat in silence for a moment before their shoulders began to shake and they crouched to pat at its head. They hummed without making real noise—just a vibrating sort of mmm, giving the cat a little glance, before starting to poke around at the ground.

“Hey.”

Frisk jumped in alarm, spinning around to see a boy maybe a couple years older than them—maybe fifteen, chubby and dark-skinned, in a light blue hoodie, hands jammed in his pockets and gazing at them curiously. “Is that any way to greet a new pal?” he asked, sauntering over and sitting beside the cat on the stump. He pulled one hand out of his pocket and stuck it out. “C’mon.”

Frisk cautiously shook.

A loud fart noise echoed through the clearing.

Frisk stared for a moment, then couldn’t help but let out a soundless giggle. 

“I’m Sans,” the kid continued, grinning at Frisk and shoving the whoopee cushion he had stored in his hand back into his jacket pockets. “Who’re you?”

Frisk carefully mouthed the letters making up their rather unusual name. _F-R-I-S-K._

Sans lit up and pulled his now-empty hands out of his pockets. _Are you deaf?_ he signed with practiced ease.

Frisk practically glowed. _No._

 _“Mute?”_ Sans asked, signing along with the spoken words.

_Yeah. My therapist says it’s selective. Where’d you learn to sign so well?_

Sans grinned and rubbed the back of his head before continuing. “ _My dad. He’s, uh, he’s mute too. Kind of. He has a speech…thing. It’s easier for him to sign.”_

 _Oh._ Frisk tilted their head. _I’m looking for an old well. Have you heard of it?_

 _“Huh. Didn’t think I’d have anyone coming looking for that in a while.”_ Sans stopped signing to take the stick from Frisk’s hands and poke inside of the fairy ring. “It’s down here,” he said, leaning down to brush away the dirt. “My dad told me that it’s so deep, if you fall down and look up, you’d see a sky full of stars in the middle of the day.”

 _Cool,_ Frisk signed, leaning down to look through a hole in the wood. _How deep is it?_

“Eh, I’unno. Pretty deep, I guess. My brother and I used to spend ages here—that’s before he moved out.”

_What, for college?_

“Nah.” Sans hesitated for a moment, running a hand through thick black curls before continuing. “My dad, he owns the boardinghouse. He won’t rent it to people with kids. But when Papyrus—that’s my big bro—turned eighteen, he went and moved into the upstairs apartment. Said he was training. Dad decided to let him room there for free in exchange for being the handyman.” Despite his smile, there was something sad in Sans’s eyes. “I don’t get to see him much anymore. I’m not allowed anywhere near the house. He comes home, sometimes.”

_Where do you live?_

“Up the hill.” Sans pointed. “And down a bit. Dad and I have a little house there. It’s not much, now that it’s just the two of us.”

Frisk felt a tiny pang of sadness for this, but didn’t sign anything more before looking back down at the well. 

“Er, kid, are you okay?”

Frisk looked up in a sudden burst of anger. _Kid_? they signed. _Kid?! You’re not that much older than me!_

Sans chuckled and reached out to ruffle Frisk’s messy brown hair. “How old are you?”

_Eleven._

“You’re a kid. I’m almost fifteen.” Sans puffed out his chest in pride and Frisk scowled.

 _You’re not that much older than me. Like I said_. The scowl turned into a smirk.

Sans pushed Frisk lightly on the shoulder, making them stumble away from the stump. “Kid,” he said teasingly. “Anyway, what I was gonna get around to sayin’ is, my dad doesn’t usually rent this place to people with kids.”

_You said that already._

“I did? Meh.” Sans shrugged. “That’s not the point. The point is, I guess your parents mustn’ta told him they were bringing a kid, or he wouldn’t’a let you stay.”

Frisk eyed Sans. _Why not?_

“Beats me. I think somethin’ happened, a while ago. When Dad was a kid. I don’t know the details, though.” Sans kicked his legs against the stump and rubbed the cat’s head. 

_Whose kitty?_

“Not mine. He’s a stray.” Sans rubbed behind the cat’s ears as it preened. “But he comes by sometimes, and I feed him, and he brings me…little dead things. Mice and such.”

Frisk reached out and joined Sans in rubbing the cat, signing as best they could with one hand. _Does he have a name?_

“Not mine, so not really. But I call ‘em Flowey.”

 _F-L-O-W-E-Y,_ Frisk signed, before just giving the sign for a flower. Sans laughed, only to get cut off by a bell ringing across the hill.

_What’s that?_

“Er, that’s my dad.” Sans rubbed the back of his head again, removing his hands from the disgruntled cat. “S’how he lets me know it’s time to be getting home. Since, y’know, mute and all.”

He hopped up from the stump and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Anyway, I’ll see you around, Frisk, maybe.”

 _See you around,_ Frisk signed as Sans sauntered off, quickly disappearing into the trees.

After a moment, Frisk glanced at the cat and grabbed up their stick again, poking at the lid of the well. Old, rotted wood; it was probably dangerous. But they leaned over anyway, put their ear against the hole, and started dropping in pebbles they found, counting the seconds until they hit the bottom.

They wondered if rocks could see the stars. Probably not. They didn’t have eyes. Or souls, for that matter. _Could_ things without eyes or souls understand anything?

Frisk decided it was best not to drop things down wells anyways, whether they could understand or not, and got up, brushed off, and started their way back down the path to their new home.


	2. Little Frisk

_I almost fell down a well yesterday, Toriel._

Toriel looked up from the book she was reading. “Repeat that? I’m sorry, dear.”

_I said I almost fell down a well yesterday._

“Oh.” Toriel looked back at her book longingly. “That’s nice.”

_I could’ve died._

“You’re a good child, you would’ve been fine.”

Frisk scowled and kicked at the leg of the table, _mmph_ -ing at the rain throwing itself at the glass of the window. They tapped Toriel’s hand to get her to look up again. _Can I go outside?_

“Of course not,” Toriel chided. “It’s raining. You’ll catch your death.” She paused and looked up from her book. “Oh, yes. A package came in for you yesterday. A nice young man dropped it off on our doorstep, it’s on the kitchen table.”

_Then what shall I do?_

Toriel looked down at her book. “You could always read with me, my child. Or get your package, or go bother your father.”

Frisk thought this over for a moment, looked at all the gardening books belonging to Asgore and novels and teaching books belonging to Toriel, then looked down at their row of colorful chapter books.

It was time to talk to their new father. 

Asgore was a professional landscaper, according to Toriel, who was trying to write a book. That was why they had moved to the new house—so he could continue to garden while writing his book. Frisk wasn’t quite sure what the book was about. They thought it had something to do with monsters, but maybe that was just because they’d rather like to read a book with monsters in it. 

Asgore had his own office, at the other end of the hall from where Toriel liked to sit and read in the parlor. Frisk was on their way down when they looked in the kitchen and saw on the table a small, newspaper-wrapped package.

They went on in, took off the small piece of tape holding it together, and peeled off the first layer of newspaper.

There was a small note on a Post-It in handwriting that looked suspiciously like Comic Sans. Frisk thought, perhaps, that this was a joke.

_Hey, Frisk. I found this in the attic after I went home the other day. Looks familiar, huh? –Sans_

Frisk finished unwrapping the package and pulled out a small, stuffed doll. It took them a second to place it—the doll looked exactly like them, from the limp brown yarn hair to the blue and purple striped sweater.

They gave a very small questioning sound before just hugging the doll to themself and taking it with them to the office.

Asgore was tapping away at the computer keys. The office in the apartment had been airy and full of greenery; this office was cold and grey, mostly because of the large amounts of unpacked boxes that had been stored in it. Frisk thought it might look nice when they were done unpacking; the office had at one time been some kind of greenhouse or sunroom. Asgore would probably like that a lot.

They hung off the doorframe and made the hinges squeak until Asgore finally looked around with his usual broad smile.

“Frisk! And…smaller Frisk! What brings you here?”

 _It’s raining,_ Frisk signed.

“Yup. It’s bucketing down.”

 _No…it’s just raining._ Frisk craned their neck to look past the boxes at the all-windowed walls on the other end of the office. _Can I go outside?_

“What did your mother say?”

_Toriel said I shouldn’t even think about going out in weather like that, Frisk Dreemurr._

“Then no.” Asgore was about to turn back to his work when Frisk stomped their foot impatiently.

_Then what should I do?_

Asgore shrugged. “You like exploring, right? Explore the house. The part we own, of course. You can count all the doors and windows and write it down.” He handed her a small notepad and a scrap of a pencil. “List everything that’s yellow. Let me work for a bit, could you? You can come bother me again when it’s time for dinner, I’m starving.” He grinned at Frisk. Frisk did not grin back.

They counted all the windows (37).

They counted all the doors (12).

They listed everything that was yellow (198).

They found a whole lot of cockroaches in one bathroom, and a room with floor to ceiling arched windows.

They even managed to find the boiler room and accidentally shut off power to the entire flat for a moment or two by pressing the wrong button.

Of the doors that Frisk found, eleven opened and closed. The twelfth was hidden behind a mattress against the wall in the back room, and then further hidden by being wallpapered over. Frisk wouldn’t even have found it if it weren’t for the fact their doll must’ve fallen, or they must’ve put it down wrong—it wasn’t on the table where they left it. Instead, it was behind the mattress. 

Frisk looked at the door, then at the doll, then at the door again, then got up and went to find Toriel.

She was exactly where they’d left them in the front parlor, still reading the same book. Frisk wandered over and tugged her sleeve until she looked up. “Yes, my child?”

 _There’s a door in the wall_.

“….that’s where most doors usually are, dearest. Is there anything special about this particular door?”

_It’s locked. Can you unlock it?_

Toriel sighed. “Frisk, darling, don’t you think you’d be better off doing something else—reading a nice book, perhaps, or playing with your lovely new toy, instead of asking me to unlock doors?”

_Please?_

Another sigh, but Toriel got up and led Frisk into the kitchen to rummage around in a drawer full of keys. Finally, she selected a very large, black, old one and took the key and Frisk to the back room.

Toriel knelt down in front of the wallpapered door and Frisk watched eagerly as she sliced neatly through the paper, pushed the key into the little lock, and turned it to pull open the door—

 _Bricks?_ Frisk signed, trying to convey their impatience and frusteration by expression alone.

Toriel nodded. “When this house was all one place, this door led somewhere—probably an air vent or service corridor. When they divided it up, they bricked up the doors that led between the flats, or just destroyed them. There used to be a door under the steps that led to the ladies’ apartment.”

Frisk frowned. _That’s boring._

“You asked.” Toriel stood and tossed the key onto the side table. “You’re welcome to join me to read, if you like.”

_…no, thanks. Aren’t you going to lock it?_

“Why should I?” Toriel was already mostly out of the room. “It doesn’t go anywhere.”

That night at dinner, Frisk poked absently at their food, doll clutched to their chest. Asgore had made some kind of dish with lots of French words in it and _chard_. Nothing with a name like _chard_ could possibly be good.

“Eat your chard,” Toriel chided. “You need a vegetable. And the escargot is good.”

 _It’s snails_ , Frisk signed in annoyance.

“Yes. And it’s good.”

_I’m not eating snails._

Asgore patted her head in what he probably thought was a familiar and comforting manner. “Well, it’s snails or bedtime, child.”

Fifteen minutes later Frisk was falling onto their bed in their favorite purple heron pajamas, staring at the ceiling with Little Frisk tucked up to their neck. The room hadn’t been unpacked properly yet; Frisk’s old sleeping bag was currently serving as sheets and blankets, the walls were cracked and peeling, a few day’s worth of clothes sat in an open suitcase, and their toys lay abandoned on the window-seat. It would probably look nice when it was done.

Frisk turned over and stared at the picture in the frame decorated with little metal bugs that stood on their bedside table—them and a few of their friends from the group home, all posing in front of their favorite hideaway, taken the day before Frisk left.

They liked Asgore and Toriel. Really, they did. But something wasn’t right there and they couldn’t seem to figure out what it was. 

Sighing, they turned back and burrowed into their sleeping bag, the light of the stars drifting across their bedroom…

They woke up in the middle of the night to a quiet tapping and scuttling across the floor.


	3. The Adventures of Frisk and a Stick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, betcha thought I forgot, didn't you? Nah, this fandom moves too fast for me to go back to weekly or fewer updates like my last couple. Besides, I like writing this story.

Frisk leaned over the side of the bed in curiosity only to see a couple of spiders scuttling across the room and to their open door. They were absolutely certain they had closed that, but their curiosity was piqued; something in them was begging them to follow the spiders.

The last one even looked back at Frisk, as if inviting them to follow.

Mind made up, Frisk jumped out of bed, grabbed a blanket and their stick, and raced down the stairs to the back room, just as abandoned as it had been earlier. The last spider looked at them again, and this time it _had_ to be deliberate, though Frisk wasn’t sure how. Maybe they were dreaming.

They pushed aside the mattress that had once again been propped against the little door only to see the last spider squeeze through the tiny crack left by the lack of a proper lock. Frisk stared, puzzled, and then carefully gripped the edge of the door and pulled it open.

They gasped.

Extending out in front of them was a long, beautiful tunnel in shades of blue and black, sparkling with tiny crystalline lights and with glowing, brilliant blue flowers sprouting from the odd, putty-like walls. Frisk looked around themself in astonishment, staring at the little crystals, at the flowers, and at the other end, a small door set into the wall.

They adjusted their blanket and stick and began to crawl down the tunnel, hearing very faint voices whispering at them. It almost seemed to be coming from the flowers—not so bad a dream, as dreams went, although very odd indeed.

As they neared the end of the passage, the impossible-to-decipher whispering died down and Frisk could hear someone humming a little song that they didn’t recognize. They pushed open the door at the end, curious to see who was singing, and found themself—

In the back room again. The back room of their home. They’d never left.

Except the snowglobes that had been on the mantle of the fireplace were gone, and the curious photograph on the wall was somehow different. At home, the photograph was of a child about Frisk’s age standing next to a boy a few years younger, their arm wrapped around the boy’s neck, wearing matching shirts and smiles. Here, though, the boy looked frightened, and the child Frisk’s age looked like they were going to do something very nasty indeed. And there was something peculiar about their eyes…

Frisk almost had it when a familiar voice from the kitchen called “Frisk? My child, is that you?”

Toriel. But what was Toriel doing up so late?

Frisk left the photograph and tugged their blanket around them further as they headed through the dining room and into the kitchen, looking around in awe. At home, the kitchen was usually grey and dark, the lightbulbs not having all been put in yet, but this one was warm and inviting. At the stove stood Toriel, pulling a cinnamon and butterscotch (from the distinctive smell) pie from the oven with pretty strawberry oven mitts, wearing a matching apron. 

Frisk was just about to approach when Toriel turned around and they nearly fell right over.

She looked just like Toriel. Her hair was as white-blond as Toriel’s, she was as cheerful and smiley as Toriel, but she did not have Toriel’s kind blue eyes.

This Toriel’s eyes were big black buttons.

 _You’re not Toriel_ , Frisk signed, unsure if this strange Toriel could understand but wanting to say it anyway. _Toriel doesn’t have the….the…_

“The buttons?” Evidently she did understand. The Other Toriel smiled even brighter and tapped rhythmically on the small pieces of—plastic? Bone? Frisk couldn’t tell what they were made of. “Do you like them? I think they really add something to the whole look.” She set the pie down on the stovetop, her smile growing ever wider. “I’m the _other_ Toriel, dear. Your other mother. Your _real_ mother. Now go ahead and tell your father that supper’s ready.”

Frisk hesitated in the doorway, hugging the ends of the blanket so it wrapped tightly around their shoulders.

“Well?” the Other Toriel asked, tilting her head slightly so the kitchen lights gleamed off her buttons. “Go on. He’s in his study.”

Frisk slowly backed out of the room and into the hallway which was, at least, familiar looking, if with more vibrant wallpaper and a less frayed carpet. The door to Asgore’s study was open slightly, letting out a warm glow.

Frisk stepped in and opened their mouth in awe. A white grand piano stood in front of the cleaned and sparkling windows; plants lined the walls, vibrant greens and flowering buds every way you looked. And at the piano sat Asgore, or the Other Asgore, playing a cheerful ditty on the keys. 

Frisk rapped on the doorframe to get his attention and the Other Asgore swiveled around on the piano seat. “Ah, Frisk!” he called jovially. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that his eyes had been replaced by the same large black buttons as the Other Toriel’s.

“What brings you here?” he continued, ignorant of the thoughts running a mile a minute through Frisk’s head.

Frisk swapped the stick and the blanket corners to one hand and raised the other to sign slowly. _She said to tell you that dinner’s ready._

“Mother did? Of course she did!” The Other Asgore laughed. Frisk was slightly unnerved, if only because they had never heard the real Asgore call Toriel “Mother”. That, however, might have just been because of Frisk, now that they thought about it. “I’m starved. Let’s go.”

He got up from the piano and crossed the room to take Frisk’s free hand and lead them back to the dining room.

Dinner was incredible. Frisk had never seen so much varied food in their life. Dinner at the group home was always some kind of casserole, usually of the same choice of ten rotated based on who was cooking; dinner with the real Toriel and Asgore always had something “adventurous” in it that they insisted would make Frisk more well-rounded for having tried, like escargot or cauliflower. The dinner the Other Toriel set out was entirely different—roasted chicken, sweet peas, corn on the cob, butter rolls, and a little train that whirred and clacked around a miniature track and carried the gravy and the butter dish. 

_This tastes amazing_ , Frisk signed with a mouthful of chicken. One of the benefits of sign language was that you could absolutely talk with your mouth full.

The Other Toriel gave them an enormous smile. “Another roll?” she asked. “Cranberry sauce? Are you thirsty?”

Frisk nodded eagerly, setting down their chicken to look around for a pitcher of some sort. They let out a soundless shriek of delight when the chandelier itself descended in some kind of clockwork mechanism to showcase a wide array of drinks.

“Anything you want,” the Other Asgore said cheerfully, taking a huge bite out of his own chicken the second he was done with his sentence.

 _Chocolate milkshake?_ Frisk signed hopefully.

The chandelier swirled around to show a pitcher full of chocolate milkshake. Frisk placed their glass underneath and pulled the lever to allow the drink to fill it, then drained it all in almost one swallow.

As they were finishing up, the Other Toriel and Other Asgore smoothly rose from their seats to collect something from the counter and bring it over. Frisk clapped in delight as they saw it was the butterscotch cinnamon pie.

The clapping slowed as they saw that _Welcome Home Frisk!_ was written on it in whipped cream.

 _Home?_ they signed, slowly spelling it out.

“Yup!” the Other Asgore said, placing a hand on Frisk’s shoulder. “It just wasn’t the same here without you, kid.”

“We’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” the Other Toriel added.

 _I didn’t know I had another mother,_ Frisk signed after a moment of hesitation. _Toriel…she isn’t even my mom._

“I could be,” the Other Toriel said.

Frisk was beginning to feel just a little ill at ease. _I should….probably be getting back. To my parents._

“But we are your parents!” the Other Toriel protested gently, rubbing at Frisk’s shoulders.

Frisk pushed her hand away. _I mean my real parents. Asgore and Toriel versions one-point-oh?_ They signed out the numbers in a vague attempt at levity, getting up from their chair as they did so.

“But we could be your real parents,” the Other Toriel tried again.

Frisk gave up on that route. _Well, I should get to bed. I’m really tired._ They exaggerated a yawn. 

“Of course!” The Other Toriel leaped on this track. “Head on upstairs, it’s all made up.”

Frisk let their other parents lead them up the staircase and to their bedroom, gasping yet again upon entering. It was nothing much like their bedroom at home. The pattern of the sleeping bag had been expanded to fit a full duvet, the walls were painted in the pale shade of pink that Frisk liked the best, and their toys had all come to life around them, little dragonflies and fairies that usually were paper decorations on a string flying around the room and windup turtles snapping at their feet. 

They ran over to the bed and leaped on top of it, staring all around at the plushy cushions on the windowseat, the bookcase full of books, the closet that from a quick glance seemed to be full of dress-up and costume clothes. 

_It’s amazing!_ Frisk signed quickly before burrowing under the blanket, taking their own ratty one with them and letting their stick rest beside the bed.

The Other Toriel smiled and sat on the chair next to the bed, the Other Asgore sitting on top of the blankets at the foot. “Go to sleep, dearest,” the Other Toriel said, patting Frisk’s hair. “We’ll see you soon.”

Frisk smiled sleepily—it really was starting to get to them—and shut their eyes.

When they opened them again, they were in their own grey room under their sleeping bag.


	4. The Further Adventures of Short Stuff and Snarky

_It was really, really real, Mom,_ Frisk signed rapidly, ignoring their cooling plate of eggs. _But you weren’t really you, you were my_ other _mother, and you made all this great food and As—and Dad had orange monkey slippers!_

“Another world through the door, hm?” Toriel smiled indulgently, but prodded Frisk towards their eggs. “Frisk, my child, you only dreamed you ate all that chicken. Now hurry up. At least take your vitamins, if you don’t want the eggs.”

Frisk pushed their eggs away but obediently popped the gummy vitamins into their mouth as Asgore entered the room in his bathrobe, carrying a cup of coffee. _Dad! I had the craziest dream last night, and you were there too!_

“I heard.” Asgore made his way over and ruffled Frisk’s hair affectionately. “I’d love to stay and listen, but I’ve really got to finish up these pages so I can take them to the pitch tomorrow.”

Frisk deflated slightly as Asgore left the room. Toriel sighed and looked over at them.

“My child, why don’t you visit the ladies downstairs? I’m sure they’d love to hear all about your dream.”

 _Miss Alphys and Miss Undyne?_ Frisk signed, slumped over in their seat. _But you said they’re crazy!_

Toriel looked up at the ceiling and smiled tightly. Frisk sighed and got up from their seat, grabbing Little Frisk and pulling their sweater over their head as they went. 

As soon as Frisk was out the door, they tripped over a large stack of bulging packages left on the front porch. They eyed the mail curiously, certain that they hadn’t ordered anything recently, only to pick up a couple of the packages, shake them, and notice that the handwritten labels read P. S. GASTER. Not a single one of them was for Frisk’s family.

They sighed, gathered up the packages, and looked over at the signs pointing up to Apartment A, the likely home of one P. S. Gaster. Very carefully, they ascended the rusty, rickety staircase and came to a stop outside a door with chipping paint.

They knocked on the door and, when they didn’t receive an answer, rang the bell, beginning to get frustrated. They were just about to kick the wall when they heard someone behind them.

“Small human!” came a boisterously cheerful voice. “Hang on!”

They whirled around, nearly dropping the packages, and started at the sight of a man in his twenties wearing a very _odd_ sort of costume—grey sweatshirt with shorts (it was mid-January, how was he not freezing?), a brilliantly red scarf, and a baseball cap. More than that, his dark skin and darker eyes were strangely familiar. That wasn’t even the oddest part of the tableau; the man had apparently decided that the very best way to talk to Frisk would be to do so by doing a handstand on the staircase railing and watching her from there. 

He flipped around and landed next to them, towering over their tiny stature—he was six and a half feet, at least. “You’re the new neighbor, correct?” he asked. “Did you come for training?” He puffed up his chest self-importantly. “You’ve come to the right place! I, the Great Papyrus, will—“

Frisk cut them off best as they could by holding out the stack of packages. Papyrus immediately switched topics and lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, my! My new pasta!”

 _Pasta…?_ Frisk mouthed, tilting their head.

Understanding dawned on Papyrus’s face. “Oh! You’re the small human my brother told me about, aren’t you?” He took the packages from them and quickly opened his apartment door, carelessly tossing them inside and making Frisk cringe only to start signing along with his words. “ _Yes, my younger brother, he mentioned that there was a new small human about his age, and that they spoke through sign! How exciting! I’m afraid I’m out of practice, not living with Father anymore, but I can still understand!”_

Oh. This had to be Sans’s brother, then. Papyrus. Their father had some kind of sense of humor, evidently. _I think our mail got mixed up._

“ _I imagine,_ ” Papyrus agreed amiably. “ _The mailmen can never seem to get it quite right, can they? Even when no one lived in your apartment, they continued delivering my mail there! The strangest things! Even my pet mice were confused!_ ”

 _Your pet mice…were…confused?_ Frisk signed, rather confused themself. They hadn’t known mice could feel confusion, or any emotion whatsoever. They were mice.

“ _Indeed! You see, small human, I, the Great Papyrus, have several pet mice that all do amazing tricks! Someday perhaps you can visit properly and see them, but for now, you may continue on your way. We can share spaghetti and stories another time._ ” Papyrus gave them a large, endearing grin and Frisk couldn’t help giggle as they waved good-bye and headed back down the stairs. 

“Wait!” they heard Papyrus calling as they reached the bottom and turned to see him running after them. “I forgot!” He skidded to a stop. “The mice said something about you, it wasn’t just Sans,” he said, half out of breath. “They said…” He hesitated, then leaned in. “ _Don’t go through the door._ ”

 _The…one behind the wallpaper?_ Frisk signed. _But it’s all…bricked up…_

Papyrus shrugged. “Mm. They’re mice. They get confused sometimes. Ah well. Have a nice day, small human!” And he was bounding back up the stairs, slamming his apartment door before Frisk could formulate a goodbye.

Frisk stared after him for a moment, then shrugged and continued on their way down to the ladies’ apartment.

They paused at the door to stare at the doormat reading NO FIGHTING IN THE HOUSE and were just about to knock on the door when they heard extraordinarily loud barking from inside and jumped back at the sight of several white dogs jumping up at the door. 

“No, no, we don’t bark at the guests!” came a quivery, quiet voice from inside. The dogs backed down and Miss Alphys, an extraordinarily small woman in her thirties, opened the door to peer at Frisk. “Oh. Hello, there. Undyne! It’s the new neighbor!”

“ _Be down in a sec!_ ” came a much louder and more boisterous—or perhaps angry—voice. Frisk privately thought that whoever owned that voice would get along well with Papyrus. 

“Hurry up, we want to make good impressions! Would you like some tea?” Alphys asked Frisk.

Frisk nodded politely, signing along, and stopped when Alphys gave no signs of recognition. 

“Oh. Good. Undyne! Frisk wants some tea!”

A woman about Alphys’s age came bounding down the staircase, only to leap over the railing out of apparent boredom after a few steps and land solidly on the tea table. “New kid!” she shrieked, running over and picking Frisk up only to set them on the couch. “Come on, sit, new kid. Welcome to the building. I’m Undyne. That’s Alphys. But you already knew that. And this is Greater, Lesser, Dogaressa, Dogamy, and Doggo.” She indicated the dogs in turn. “Alphys, is that tea ready?”

“Almost!” Alphys called from the kitchen, heading out in a moment with three china cups filled to the brim with a brown brew. “There you go.” She passed one cup to Undyne and one to Frisk. Undyne downed hers quickly; Frisk just stared.

“I’ll read your tea leaves, if you like,” Alphys offered after an awkward moment. “I mean, I’m not too good at it, but I can try.”

Frisk shrugged and drained their cup.

“Not all of it—there you go. Hand it over.”

Frisk complied and watched as Alphys swirled the cup around with a saucer overtop and looked inside. “Oh, dear,” she muttered quietly, eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Oh, dear oh dear oh dear…” She looked up at Frisk. “You’re in danger.”

“Don’t scare the kid!” Undyne scoffed. “At least use some weaponry if you’re gonna!”

“Which of us took that tarot class, again?”

“But weapons!”

Frisk giggled slightly and tilted their head, trying to convey a sense of so what now. Alphys seemed to understand.

“Er…don’t mention the Scottish play?” she offered.

“Or carry bananas,” Undyne added.

“And be very, very careful,” Alphys said decisively. “There. I think that’s good advice. Now, did you come here for anything?”

Frisk thought it over—of the ladies’s words, and of Papyrus’s strange warning, and shook their head.

“Oh. Okay. Bye, Frisk!”

“See you ‘round, kiddo!”

Frisk left the apartment quickly, setting up the stairs and heading out into the fog that was starting to cover the grounds. 

In danger? It didn’t sound so bad. Exciting, at least. 

They didn’t notice the figure in the fog until they almost tripped over it, shrieking as they tumbled down only to have their hand grabbed at the last second by a bashful-looking Sans.

“Hey,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you to fall for me so fast.”

Frisk scowled and pulled away, dusting themself off. _No,_ they signed. _No puns._

“Aw, c’mon, that was a good one!” Sans chuckled as something moved under his jacket, Flowey popping up from the collar after a second. “We’re hunting snails. Wanna help?”

Frisk didn’t answer, instead looking past Sans at the house. _Hey, that doll—did you make it look like me?_

“Huh?” Sans turned back in time to catch the tail end of Frisk’s signs when Flowey batted at his cheek. “Oh. No. I found it that way. It’s older than Dad, probably old as the house.”

 _It looks too much like me. It’s even got my sweater._

“I know, weird, right?” Sans was about to turn back to his business when Flowey batted at him again, forcing him to look at Frisk’s last query. 

_I thought you said you weren’t allowed near the house?_

“In the house. There’s a difference. ‘Sides, what Dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sans looked distinctly uncomfortable and returned to waving around his tongs. It occurred to Frisk that he was probably directly disobeying his father’s rules to be here, and they had to wonder why. 

“Hey!” They were distracted from their reverie by Sans turning around with an enormous snail dangling from his tongs. “Check this out, kid!”

Frisk shrieked and stumbled backwards as Sans laughed. “Here, help me out.” He tossed them a camera.

The photo shoot lasted until the snail managed to escape, at which point Frisk sat with Sans on a rock looking out over the grounds. “You know,” Sans said after a moment, “my dad says the house is dangerous.”

 _Dangerous?_ Frisk signed, conveying all their skepticism on their face. 

“Yeah.” Sans looked up at the sky. “He had a cousin, or something. When they were kids, the cousin disappeared. He insists that she was…kidnapped. Stolen or something.”

Frisk tapped Sans’s shoulder to get his attention. _What do you think happened?_

Sans shrugged, tugging his blue hoodie tighter around himself. “I dunno. Maybe she just ran away? Something was going on with her, anyway.”

Frisk was contemplating this when they heard the bell ring again.

“Oh, I gotta go,” Sans said hastily, seeming to have realized he had said a bit much about his family history to a near-stranger. Frisk didn’t quite want him to leave yet; he hadn’t answered all their questions.

But as they tried to reach for him, he was already scampering off into the mist, back towards the path to his house.

Frisk sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	5. Follow The Spiders, She Said, It'll Be Fun, She Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (shows up days late to the update schedule carrying Starbucks) Happy National No Writing Month, everyone. Er....long chapter to make up for it?

That night, Frisk stayed awake long after they had tucked themself in, staring at the door of their bedroom and hoping for another visit by the strange little spiders. It might’ve been a dream, but it was a very good one, and it might’ve been strange but a dream didn’t mean any harm.

Sure enough, the spiders came back. Frisk grinned widely and grabbed their stick, bounding out of bed and following them down the stairs, to the door, through the tunnel, and back into the kitchen. 

The Other Toriel was there, of course, smiling widely at Frisk and beckoning them over. “Come on, my child, come on!” she said encouragingly as Frisk drew closer. “There we go.” She popped a strawberry in Frisk’s mouth. “Good?”

Frisk nodded enthusiastically, pulling the stem off the strawberry and leaving it on the counter. Toriel disliked it when they did that, always scolded them for leaving trash everywhere; the Other Toriel didn’t seem to mind. 

“Good!” The Other Toriel returned to cooking, flipping pancakes and bacon. “Why don’t you go get your father? He’s in the garden.”

Frisk eyed her dubiously. _Asgore doesn’t have time to garden._

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Go on, now.”

Frisk considered, then shrugged, then headed out the kitchen door and towards what in their yard was an old grey-brown garden, stone walls and a rusty gate and some overgrown, dying bushes. 

It seemed the same, at first; dark and a little gloomy, but as Frisk opened the gate, they gasped. Things had begun to light up—strange flowers they didn’t recognize glowing bright red, little reedy things popping open to reveal colorful frogs with button eyes, golden and green vines growing across the stone path right before their eyes. Frisk walked backwards, gaping in amazement, wanting to watch everything at once—the trees flowering to reveal plump apples, the bushes opening up into pink and blue wonders—a whole world of incredible plants that didn’t exist, couldn’t exist, yet somehow _existed_. There was even a greenhouse, where the greenhouse was in their garden at home, but it was larger and cleaner and inside Frisk could see exotic-looking but just as unfamiliar plants with pointed leaves and silky petals.

“Frisk, child!”

They whirled around and laughed soundlessly at the sight of the Other Asgore atop a strange contraption, something that looked like a seeding machine but also like a large praying mantis, moving along the outer edge of the garden and sowing seeds for beautiful golden flowers that sprung up in an instant behind him. As he passed over a bridge to Frisk, the pond below filled with water, fountains in the shape of pumpkins appearing in the center of each of the two halves. 

“Take my hand, get on!” The Other Asgore extended a hand down to Frisk, who accepted it eagerly and allowed the Other Asgore to pull them up onto the machine in front of him. They continued laughing in delight as propellers sprung from compartments in the machine, sending the pair flying into the air over the garden to watch as it formed a pattern—six hearts in a dark blue, pale blue, yellow, green, purple, and orange, surrounding a larger heart in red. 

_Pretty!_ they signed against the Other Asgore’s hand. He laughed.

“Mother said you’d like it,” he said, ruffling Frisk’s hair. “I knew she’d be right.”

Slowly they descended outside the garden, the Other Asgore helping Frisk dismount as the machine went into some kind of sleep mode beside the gate. He took their hand and led them back into the house, where, of course, the Other Toriel was waiting with breakfast-for-dinner.

It really was an excellent dinner—fluffy pancakes, strawberry sauce, crispy bacon. They ate every bite, although it didn’t quite escape their notice that the Other Toriel hadn’t put a thing on her plate to begin with.

“Frisk,” the Other Toriel said when dinner was winding down, “Papyrus has invited you to come upstairs to train with him and his pet spiders after dinner.”

Frisk swallowed their mouthful and tilted their head at the Other Toriel. _Really? I didn’t think he was really training._ And there was something wrong with that statement—didn’t Papyrus keep mice, not spiders? Then again, they hadn’t been listening all too well…

The Other Toriel smiled brightly. “Of course he is! And he’d love to have you over. Your father and I can clean up, you and your friend go upstairs.”

 _My…_ Frisk didn’t get to finish signing as the Other Asgore ushered them up and opened the door. Standing on the front steps, hands in his pockets and giving a small smile, was Sans—or, Frisk supposed, the Other Sans. Cleaner than the Sans they knew, with a hoodie not covered in suspicious stains, and, of course, two large black buttons in place of their Sans’s mismatched eyes. 

_Ah. Another Sans,_ Frisk signed with a soundless sigh. _Hello, Sans. Got any new puns?_

The Other Sans didn’t say a word, just smiled wider.

Frisk looked up at the Other Toriel, confused. _Sans can talk._

“I thought you’d like him better if he wasn’t quite so…talkative.” She shrugged, giving Frisk a smile of her own, although there was something sharp in the corners. “So I fixed that for you.”

_He can’t talk…at all? Can he sign?_

“He understands perfectly well when you do.”

The Other Sans nodded in affirmation.

Frisk looked him up and down. Aside from the buttons and general cleanliness, he was her Sans precisely—chubby and smiling, a tiny shaved patch in his curly hair, dark skin with an almost blue tinge to it. _I like it,_ they signed to the room at large.

The Other Toriel smiled proudly. “Good! I knew it would be perfect. Everything’s perfect in this world. Now go on, have fun.”

Frisk and the Other Sans complied, heading out the door and shutting it behind them as they stepped into the cool night air. The Other Sans was looking around appreciatively, as if he’d never seen the stars before; Frisk wasn’t sure how, as it seemed to always be night.

 _It didn’t hurt, when she…_ They didn’t finish their signing, not really wanting to think about why it was that the Other Sans had yet to open his mouth when their Sans was always showing his teeth. 

They changed topics. _Well, you’re pretty cheerful, seeing as you can’t pun at me._

There was a moment of awkward silence when the Other Sans looked as if he was about to say something; but all he did was point behind Frisk to the stairs to Papyrus’s. Frisk turned around and giggled silently at the sight of a very small blimp flying in through a hole in the door. 

The two ran up the stairs, pushing each other out of the way in an effort to get there first. Frisk raised their fist to knock on the door, only for it to swing open of its own accord. 

Frisk gasped. Sans’s smile widened, became softer.

The inside of Papyrus’s apartment was a huge gymnastics-and-obstacle course, perfect for a kid to play on and an adult to train with—block pits, balance beams, trapezes and nets to climb. Frisk was amazed that this had all fit inside the seemingly-small place, but then remembered that they had gotten here through crawling through bricks and so it probably didn’t matter, anyway. Scampering all around were friendly-looking little spiders in a variety of sizes from barely specks to the size of Frisk’s closed fist, carrying little bandanas and flags, doing tricks on their own tiny versions of all the equipment, and nibbling popcorn from a snack stand in the corner with everything from soda and cotton candy to, oddly, spaghetti—but not the kind of spaghetti that came in strange packages that ended up on the wrong doorstep. This was the good kind.

The Other Sans made a beeline for the food as Frisk ran for one of the nets, flinging themself at it and scampering up to the top. A spider followed them, crawling nimbly along the rope and reaching the top first, transforming itself into a beautiful young girl in Victorian dress, her hair in pigtails. Her button eyes were larger than the usual, and she seemed to have several sets, but Frisk could’ve been imagining it. 

“Welcome!” she trilled. “Welcome, welcome, welcome, dearies, to the Great Papyrus’s Training Ring! I am Muffet, your chef, hostess, and dearest, bestest friend.” She reached down and helped Frisk climb the rest of the way up the net. “Papyrus will be along shortly, he’s just—“

The curtain at the back of the apartment flung open to reveal the Other Papyrus, arms outstretched like he was ready to receive everyone’s applause. The Other Sans provided it, clapping enthusiastically and taking a running leap into his brother’s arms.

Frisk blinked.

_Everything’s perfect in this world, huh?_

They were quickly dragged out of their musing by Muffet, who had taken it upon herself to drag Frisk through the obstacle course. Frisk got into the rhythm of things quickly, laughing and shrieking soundlessly as they threw themself through the air, swung off ropes and bars, and waded through the block pit. Across the room, the Other Sans and Other Papyrus were sitting together, a book open in the Other Sans’s lap as the Other Papyrus read to him.

When Frisk was done the course, the brothers came back ( _of course they did_ , said a nagging voice in the back of their mind, _they’re meant to make you happy_ ) and helped them go through it again, faster and faster, until the four were practically flying around the room, Frisk tossed from one to another in delight, Muffet and the spiders clapping along to the rhythm, Sans’s hands still firmly in his pockets as he caught Frisk with a strange blue magic that reminded them of the tunnel.

It was just when they were beginning to get tired that Papyrus revealed from behind the curtain a staircase back down to Frisk’s other home. Muffet transformed back into the spider and scuttled up Papyrus’s sleeve to sit on his head; Papyrus gave the kids a grin and cupped his hand over the spider. When he lifted it, it was gone.

“Thank you, thank you, lady and gentleman!” he said grandly when they reached the foot of the staircase, in a closet just outside Frisk’s bedroom. “And do come again, the Great Papyrus is always looking for those to train with!”

Frisk nodded enthusiastically and Sans jumped up to let Papyrus pick him up—an easy feat, given Sans’s small and round stature and Papyrus’s height. In the bedroom, the Other Asgore and Toriel were waiting to say goodnight, all kind smiles and kisses.

Frisk was just beginning to think it would be wonderful to stay a while longer when they drifted off and woke up at home in their own bed.


	6. Your Best Friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s when things start to differ a little bit from Coraline canon, since I know some were worried it would stick 100% to the plot and not be interesting. You’ll see. It starts here and then things get....exciting. At least I hope so!

Frisk and Toriel had dropped off Asgore outside his editor’s office and were driving, in a remarkably slow fashion thanks to the rain and the traffic, to the shopping center in town. Toriel had decided that it was about time to get Frisk’s new school clothes; the only clothes they’d wear currently were the same striped sweater, jeans, and coat they had worn the day they left the group home, and Toriel was beginning to get frustrated.

“Just….you can’t wear that to school every day,” she said finally, when they had almost reached the center. “We can get you some more sweaters, if you’d like?”

Frisk nodded slightly, watching the rain drip down the window. 

Toriel huffed slightly. “I locked the small door, by the way. You were right, it really should be locked, even if it doesn’t go anywhere.”

Frisk looked up, startled. _No, you were right. It wasn’t hurting anyone._

Toriel shrugged. “Nonetheless, it is now locked, and I don’t want you going anywhere near it, alright? I found some rat droppings. Until we catch the vermin, it’s best to stay away.”

Frisk crossed their arms and slumped. Even if it had been just a dream, it had been a nice one. 

They pulled into a parking space and darted into the shops, where Toriel rummaged through clothing racks and occasionally pulled out a sweater or a T-shirt for Frisk’s perusal and the shop assistant ran around trying to find the school-required blazers and white shirts for special occasions. Frisk couldn’t decide between pants or a skirt for the special-occasions uniform, and ended up with a pleated grey skort. 

They wandered the shop while Toriel looked between boring dark red sweaters and boring black sweaters. They found a locket that they liked a lot, small and heart-shaped, in the consignment section.

 _Mom,_ they signed, _look, can I have it?_

Toriel looked down at Frisk, then at the locket, with a very odd expression on her face. “Not today, my child. We’ve got to buy your school clothes today.”

 _But I want it._

“You can...put it on your Christmas list, maybe.” She went back to checking the sizes on the blazers the shop assistant had brought over. Frisk sighed and went to sit on the steps. 

They found some pretty ballet shoes and a tutu that they liked, and an umbrella with pictures of music notes and raindrops on it, and a blue hoodie with white fuzz all around the cuffs and hood just like the one Sans had. They wondered idly if he had bought his hoodie at the same shop. Maybe they could get him a new one, for Christmas or a birthday. Did Sans have a birthday? Did he just appear fully-formed the day Frisk arrived? He did seem to get places very fast for someone who didn’t move much at all.

On the way home, Toriel tried to engage Frisk in conversation and they went back to staring out the window. They had two new sweaters, one in black and one in white and gold, a grey school blazer and two shirts, the grey skort, a package of socks and one of underwear, a new pair of jeans, and no locket. 

When they got inside the house, Toriel looked inside the fridge. Frisk looked behind her and saw a (live) snail crawling over a Tupperware container of lettuce, a package of hot dogs without any buns, and half a bottle of ketchup. 

“How does a…snail-hot-dog-ketchup-salad sound for lunch?” Toriel tried. 

Frisk made a face.

“Yes, it does sound awful.” She shut the fridge and sighed. “I’ll have to run out again, then. Do you want to come with me? You can pick out something you like.”

 _Like the locket?_ Frisk signed with a raised eyebrow.

Toriel sighed again. “Stay here then. Don’t get into trouble.”

Frisk nodded obediently and waited until they’d heard the car pulling out of the driveway to run into the back room and tug at the door’s corner. It was locked, as Toriel had said.

They went back into the kitchen, rummaging through the drawer full of keys without finding the large black one. It took them a second of looking around the kitchen to spot it, on a hook above the door. 

With a stool and a stack of books, they finally managed to knock the key off the hook and take it into the back room, unlocking the door and holding their breath. They weren’t sure what they’d find when the door opened. They weren’t even sure what they wanted to find. 

The door came open easily and the tunnel stretched out in front of them.

Frisk grinned to themself. They’d known it was real.

When they crawled through, it was nighttime as always in the other world; they were starting to think that was the default state, odd as it seemed. The Other Toriel and Other Asgore were nowhere to be found, but in the kitchen there was a wide array of tea trays and tea plates of mini sandwiches, baskets filled with fruit, platters of cupcakes, and in the center a large box with a note on it.

Frisk looked over the note, first, spidery and wispy handwriting covering the thin parchment.

_Frisk--_

_I had to go take a nap, but help yourself to anything you’d like. Your other father’s out in the garden, and Miss Alphys and Miss Undyne have invited you downstairs to help out with some experiments. I hope you like the new outfit I made for you!_

_Mother_

Frisk opened the box and yipped in delight as they saw a soft, green sweater with a wide yellow stripe in the center. They draped it over their arm, along with the velvety-smooth jeans, and carried those and the matching black heeled boots up to their room to change.

A half hour later, after a very satisfying meal of just about everything on the table, Frisk bounded out the door and down the steps to what was in their world Alphys and Undyne’s apartment. Now there were blinking lights around the door and a miniature fountain waterfall set into the wall in the stairwell.

As they were about to go through, they heard a soft meowing behind them and whipped around, running back up the stairwell to see a familiar black cat. 

They hummed, reaching down to pet him when he bounded away and started licking his paws. Frisk made the best indignant noise they could manage and got a self-satisfied smile in return.

“Howdy, Chara,” Flowey said, continuing to lick his paw. 

Frisk shrieked soundlessly and stumbled backward, bumping into the side of the house and gesturing wildly. Flowey’s smile widened and he loped over to them, jumping up on the railing to their right. 

“Is that any way to talk to your best friend?” he chided. “And don’t go trying to pretend I’m not.”

Frisk shakily tapped at the corner of their eye, trying to convey what they wanted to ask. Flowey seemed to understand.

“No buttons? No, I don’t have those. I’m not the _other_ Flowey, I’m not the _other_ anything. I’m just me.” He sat up straight, swishing his tail. “Now, see here, pal, you’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?”

Frisk cocked their head. They couldn’t see anything terrible about this place. 

Flowey laughed, somehow low and high at the same time and intensely unnerving. “Don’t give me _that_ , Chara, you know better.”

Frisk finally raised their hands to shakily sign. _My name’s not Chara_.

Flowey seemed to understand, laughing again, longer, and causing chills to run down Frisk’s spine. “No, you’re not, are ya? But ya look a lot like them! Almost exactly! Except your eyes are different.” He leaped off the railing and led Frisk across the yard as they followed him out of curiosity to a fallen tree. “Frisk, yes, you’re Frisk. Terribly sorry for that. But you’re still my _very best friend_ \--except for the Other Sans.”

_You know the Other Sans?_

“Yup. He told me to warn ya about this place, y’know! Told me to tell you to be very careful.”

_Sans can’t talk._

“Maybe not to _you_.” Flowey winked one wide eye, continuing to stare at Frisk with the other. “He talks to me through Papyrus. Papyrus is my third best friend in the whole world!”

 _So…what am I supposed to be warned about?_ Frisk signed, following Flowey as he lazily pattered across the fallen tree and poked his head into a hole. 

They jumped as his voice came from across the way and turned to see his head sticking out of a hole nearly five yards away, his body still next to them. “You might think this world is great, full of LOVE and friendliness—and you’re right! But not in the way you think!” His body disappeared and appeared to follow his head out of the other hole as he walked along the branch leading up to the roof of the house. “You’re gonna wanna be real careful now, Frisky Business. Or else you’ll find yourself meeting a bad end.” He winked again. “I—“ He was cut off by a quiet skittering and lifted his ears. “One sec. Just…gotta…”

And in a second he had bounded out of sight.

Frisk stared after him, deeply unnerved by every aspect of that conversation. Danger? There was no danger in love.

They returned to the door to Miss Alphys and Miss Undyne’s apartment and headed down the staircase. When they were sure Flowey wasn’t following, they went on inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Updated whenever the hell I feel like it. Enjoy, folks.
> 
> Designs for most of the humanized characters are from toddnet.tumblr.com's human AU. I'll link to it whenever I figure out how.


End file.
